Stilinski's Supernatural Supplies
by Supernova95
Summary: Stiles Stilinski was content with running his shop in peace, until one day a customer leaves their credit card. A customer who by all records is dead. His search for the man uncovers more and more disturbing secrets about the Hunters in the area and their horrifying experiments. It was really a great start of the week for Stiles, honestly all he wanted to do was be a good citizen.


**This is my first attempt at a longish fic, unfortunately I've entered exam term at uni and so updates over the next few weeks are probably going to be sporadic to none, but then I break up for summer which gives me a lot of free time to write YAY!**

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Stiles Stilinski liked to think of himself as a successful businessman; setting up and running a blooming company from his hometown, Beacon Hills, in northern California before he turned twenty-five deserves some credit? Right? There were even plans in the pipeline to have an east coast division with a little help from his friend, Lydia, a professor of mathematics at MIT.

So yeah, he would like to think that he's doing well. He has a steady stream of customers throughout the day; most were just passing by and decided to take a look inside, but he had plenty of regulars each week as well. Stiles had the money to put food on the table and then some; which was always good when one's father is the county sheriff (Stiles had been able to get his whole family a new and better healthcare package, you know, just in case). You never know when something bad might happen to someone you love (especially when they're in law enforcement). It was, and is, a constant fear for Stiles, but he could rest a little easier at night knowing that if something happened they would have some of the best healthcare out there. He had made sure they were covered for everything short of a zombie apocalypse, but Stiles didn't tell his father that when he got the deal or he would have been too damn stubborn to take it. (His dad thought he had bought a family discount package and Stiles was more than happy for him to continue to believe that.)

Which was one of the many reasons that Stiles was glad that Stilinski's Supernatural Supplies was doing so well.

But then again being one of the only easily accessible suppliers for anything and everything that goes bump in the night in the States definitely had its perks.

The building itself was unassuming; just a normal shop front in the hubbub that was Main Street. Red brick; large front window showcasing his wide range of spell casting, folklore and everyday power items as well as charmed trinkets and jewellery. Those were usually the items that got passers by interested in coming inside. Most of his non-supernatural clientele were looking for birthday presents or small souvenirs and his display looked great to anyone who so much as thought of entering the shop.

And no that is not just because of the charmed wind chime hanging up by the door. Not at all.

The inside of the shop was far more impressive (well at least to Stiles it was). He had a small bookshop in the back left corner for his rare and speciality books. The ones he could put on show without too much trouble but wouldn't fall into the wrong hands and create utter mayhem. The centre isles were full of alchemy, apothecary and witching ingredients literally anything anyone could possibly want that was legal… the illegal stuff he kept in the back.

The left hand wall was full of everything a modern day witch could ever need, and the right hand wall contained his ready-made potions, charmed trinkets and all the bits and bobs like that.

Behind the till, in the back of the shop, were his storeroom, workshop and supernatural armoury. Stiles always liked to joke to his more mundane customers that that was where the 'magic' happened. Most would laugh with disbelieving but amused smiles. Others, the more religious or superstitious would look at him with wary, nervous eyes. He once accidently said his piece to some Jehovah's Witnesses who had come into his shop to try to convert him; needless to say they soon left the store running. Stiles was only a little sorry. Just a bit.

For his less mundane customers he would notify of his supply of supernatural defensive weaponry, mountain ash, wolfsbane, mistletoe (each came in both physical or aerosol forms), rock salt, holy water, cursed iron, speciality guns with custom bullets infused with any eclectic mix his customers could come up with.

Stiles was very proud of the armoury he had amassed, and there was nothing he loved more than to spend an evening experimenting in this workshop figuring out new and better solutions to supernatural problems. He prized his non-lethal weapons most of all. They were his favourite.

Stilinski's Supernatural Supplies did however have a strict no hunter policy, which the local hunting clan liked to remind him of almost daily, telling him how much more money he could be making if he catered to the likes of them; but after encountering a code breaking hunting clan in his travels though the Andorran mountains Stiles was more afraid of what a bad hunter could do with his items than worried about the loss of revenue without them.

It reassured both him and his customers to know that only other supernaturals had access to the armoury for inter-species disputes than for hunters to potentially kill them all.

And anyway, the only people he sells his potentially lethal weaponry to are those in the know at the Beacon Hills Police Department (aka, his dad, Jordan Parrish and Isaac Lahey). Sensible people who aren't trigger-happy.

Stiles could, would and on a couple of memorable occasions, has happily spent the whole day in his workshop getting distracted by complex amplification spells and protection webs. Which is why he had the bell above the door installed; to alert him to new customers.

Like now.

Stiles almost jumped though the roof at the harsh ring of the bell and he quickly put everything he was working on down. He didn't want to inadvertently mess up the protection web he was casting on a fine piece of silver jewellery. Stiles shed his work apron and ran to the front of the shop.

"Hi, welcome to Stilinski's Supernatural Supplies, how may I help you?" He smiled a greeting at the man, who, from the looks of him, couldn't have been much older than Stiles himself. He was tall, probably an inch or two taller than Stiles, with raven hair and piercing green eyes that looked older than his features suggested.

The man smiled awkwardly, a hand coming up to scratch absently at his handsome stubble. Ha ha nope. Stiles did not find his stubble handsome. No siree nope, not handsome one bit. And no his cheeks did not redden at the thought. Brushing the thoughts out of his head (because Stiles is professional like that) he grinned as he noticed the sleeves of the man's leather jacket came down to his fingertips. It was something Stiles used to do in middle school: buy oversized shirts to wear because it almost felt like he was wearing his dad's clothes. It was a comfort thing.

Once the man got a couple of steps into the shop the wards Stiles set up by the door started to glow a bright yellow: the man was a beta werewolf. (Stiles really and truly loved his new wards, they were so handy and gave him a level of privacy his last ones didn't as this time he was the only one who could see the warnings they gave.)

"Hi," The man started, a forced grin on his face, and wow Stiles was not expecting such a high, melodic voice to come out of someone trying so hard to look, well: hard. He was expecting something deeper: more gravelly. Something that went 'grr I am a werewolf hear me growl' not the sweet and well innocent voice he actually heard. "I'm looking for the owner? He has a package for Hale."

"Yep that's me: Stiles Stilinski at your service. I'll just go check the back for your order." Stiles said with a grin that turned into a chuckle at the look of surprise on the man's face.

Stiles quickly found the package in question. It was one of the few orders he had received that week and so he had just kept them all out of the storeroom and under the counter ready for when the customers came to collect them.

Stilinski's Supernatural Supplies had started a 'research and order' service a few months previous as Stiles found he needed something to keep him out of the workshop (after one memorable occasion of staying there for over forty-eight hours and his dad sending a couple of deputies to make sure something hadn't happened to him as he wasn't answering his phone) and he really liked researching. So he started the research service to give him something to do and it meant that he had more customers who knew the sort of thing they needed, but didn't actually know what they needed. The order service also meant that he could get rare and sometimes one of a kind items in for his customers, or just make sure that he had enough of his regular items for all of his customers' needs. Having an efficient and well-publicised order system meant that his customers knew he'd be willing to get the things they needed in.

It also meant that he sometimes got to travel to the most amazing places, which was always cool. In fact the amount of regular visitors to his shop had grown considerably since he started the service.

The look on the man's face turned from surprised to puzzled.

"Yes I am old enough to drink; yes I have a college degree; no I do not live at home even though my dad is the town sheriff." Stiles said. He was sick and tired of the derogatory comments he got from some people when he said he owned the place. Which for the most part just confused him, he was a prime example of a young person actually succeeding in life. Why do people always feel the need to put him down?

Well, it said a lot about today's society, people shouldn't be surprised at young people doing well in life. It was so stupid. The tell people they should be doing well then get at them if they're succeeding or not. A bunch of hypocrites all of them.

"N-no, I think that's it." The man blushed and ducked his head as Stiles handed over the parcel, receiving an electric shock as he did so. Stiles shook his hand out, slightly in pain but mostly just in annoyance. He tended to get shocked by everything and everyone when a storm was coming in. It was all part of his nature as a Spark.

"Alrighty then, if you could just name, date and sign this form, I'll get the card reader ready… unless you're paying cash?"

"No, thank you, card is fine." The man said in a bit of a daze and Stiles started to wonder what he'd done this time.

His father said he had the tendency to overwhelm customers; but he just wanted to make sure they had everything they needed… there was nothing wrong with that: surely?

Stiles processed the order, the card reader taking its sweet time as usual.

"Sir, your card, thank you for shopping at-" Stiles looked up, arm outstretched to hand the card back, but no one was there. "Sir?" he all but shouted when he'd reached the street, but the man was already gone.

* * *

'Derek Hale' was the name given on the credit card, although Stiles knew of the Hale family who lived out in the preserve, he'd never actually met them. They were the local werewolf pack and usually kept to themselves. They definitely weren't fond of outsiders; especially magic users.

Stiles sighed, he had debated whether or not to call Erica and get her to go with him to the Hale House, as she was part of the pack, but Erica was on a four-day expedition out in the Nevada desert for some proficiency award or something and therefore he had to go alone. He didn't think it was going to be too bad, what could they do? He's the son of the Sheriff and heir to the Stilinski Kingdom: there would be repercussions if he suddenly disappeared okay? That didn't stop him sending a text off to Scott,

 _Buddy, off to the Hale's if I'm not back tonight presume I didn't make it out alive._

Hale House was about fifteen minutes from the centre of town, the only house to be situated in the preserve it was said to be the oldest structure in Beacon Hills and that the Hale family actually helped found the town. He had been meaning to do some research into the origins of the town and into the Hale family, but no one had ever wanted him to do that specifically for an order and he just didn't have the time to do it on his own time. So he really knew nothing about the family of werewolves living in the preserve.

He did however know they were reserved, kind people who cherished pack above all else. That information was wrangled out of Scott and Erica after one of their 'pack runs' and was only given after much pleading and begging on Stiles' part. Stiles guessed they had been under a silence order by the pack alpha; that was definitely the only way they could ignore his unrivalled good looks and puppy dog eyes.

So that was how, half an hour later, Stiles found himself driving up the imposing Hale House. The four-story mansion stood in a large clearing deep into the preserve. It was a Victorian style house with high towers; classic porch; an imposing but somehow homely house. Truly impressive compared to the rest of Beacon Hills. Stiles took a deep breath and quickly walked up to the door, jumping slightly as it was opened before he had the chance to knock. Werewolves.

"Yes?" A man, probably in his mid thirties said in annoyed tone, "If you're selling something we're not interested."

"N-no I…" Stiles stuttered. "I'm here to see Derek Hale, he left it his credit card my shop this morn-" Stiles was cut off by a flash of beta yellow eyes and a clawed hand to this throat pressing too tightly down on his jugular. Stiles could feel the wolf's claws pricking his skin like needles; he wouldn't be surprised if he came out with scratches at the very least.

"Do you think this is funny?" The man growled eyes flashing again the hand closing around his neck so much that Stiles could barely breathe. He tried desperately to tell the man that he definitely did not in any way think this was remotely funny. Something must have got across to him because the next thing Stiles knew he was being dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

Oh wait, maybe that had something to do with the deep growl coming from inside the house.

"Peter!" A woman shouted, "What on Earth do you think you are doing? You need to calm down." The woman stood tall and authoritative her piercing brown eyes staring directly into the man: Peter's. Peter backed back into the house still seething but he was no longer crowding Stiles' space so he counted that a win.

Stiles opened his mouth to start explaining again but instead of words, he stated coughing uncontrollably. Yep he would definitely have bruises there later.

Gasping he tried again, "I'm Stiles Stilinski. I run Stilinski's Supernatural Supplies in town and I had a man come into my shop earlier to pick up an order for Hale, who left his credit card. The name on the card was Derek Hale, so I just thought I'd come over to give it back."

"Did someone put you up to this?" Peter growled again.

"Peter!" The woman snapped; Peter immediately quietened. Turning inside the woman spoke to someone out of Stiles' view, "David, dear do you think you could take Peter upstairs to the library, he needs to cool off."

Her smile was sickly sweet as she turned back to Stiles.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you Mr Stilinski, I know nothing about an order from your shop, and there is no Derek Hale living here so if you'll excuse me I have to go calm down my brother." She said coldly and slammed the door in Stiles' face.

Stiles stood there for a couple of seconds, just staring at the door confusion and bemusement, before shaking his head and walking back to his Jeep, perhaps he could wrangle his father into helping him return the card. The lengths one has to go through to do a good deed these days.

* * *

Stiles smiled as he strode into the Sheriff's Station, armed with burgers and curly fries for lunch. He waved to Deputy Graham who was on the front desk for lunch every Monday, Wednesday and over the weekends. Tara had been his third grade math tutor, though Stiles had spent most of the time pestering her for stories of his dad's heroics being the Sheriff of Beacon County. She was a very good storyteller; let nobody tell you anything different.

"Good afternoon dad, oh father mine!" Stiles announced barging into the sheriff's office. "I bring good tidings of Burgers and curly fries for our lovely luncheon this fine après midi."

Stiles could almost feel his dad's eyes roll; he never even looked up from the manila folder he was studiously reading to say,

"What do you want Stiles?"

"What!?" Stiles replied, affronted. "Can't I just bring my overworked father a little lunch on the job to ease his day?"

"Well usually when you bring me lunch to 'ease my day' it's lunch sans everything even a little garnish. I never get burgers on your watch. So obviously you need something." The Sheriff looked up at him, "So what do you want Stiles?"

Stiles smiled sheepishly as he took the chair opposite the sheriff. "You could have at least played along." He muttered as he put down the bags of fast food.

Digging in the sheriff replied, smiling innocently, "Now where would the fun in that be?"

Stiles scowled but left it, instead starting to eat his own lunch.

"So I had an customer picking up an order earlier who left his card. How would you suppose I return it to them?"

"What's the name on it?"

"Derek Hale."

"Did you try the Hale family up in the preserve?"

"Yup, and they didn't take too kindly to me asking questions about a Derek Hale, the treated it like I was pulling some kind of sadistic prank, one of the betas literally clawed out when I mentioned the name.

"The Alpha said they never ordered anything from my shop, which was weird because the order was for Hale with a very werewolf specific inventory of things like Wolfsbane for burning, and wards against poisoning. The guy that picked it up certainly looked like a Hale.

"Anyway they said they didn't know who this Derek Hale was and so I'm stuck because I'm pretty sure there isn't another Hale family in Beacon Hills that would want to order Burning Wolfsbane and _Wards for Werewolves: An Introductory Guide_."

His dad looked at him, contemplating. "I can do a search for Derek Hales in California if you want, see if any of them look familiar."

Stiles smiled, "Thanks dad. He looked to be a couple of years older than me, but I would go for the 20-30 bracket, just in case."

The Sheriff rolls his eyes but brings up the database to make the search. "Do you want to look though the results whilst I savour the lunch I'm not going to eat again for a couple of years?"

Stiles jumped at the chance, swivelling the laptop to face his side of the desk, searching quickly through the photographs. His brow furrowed more and more as pictures flashed in front of his face. None of them were his Derek.

It wasn't too long until Stiles ran out of Derek Hales in California, and yes, he could be from out of State… but he had that Californian vibe about him, mannerisms and an accent which he would place his entire bank account on being Californian. It didn't make any sense.

"Dad?" The sheriff looked up from his burger, mid bite. "These are only living Derek Hales, right?"

The Sheriff squinted at Stiles in confusion, "Yes?"

"Can you extend the search to deceased Derek Hales in the same hypothetical age bracket?"

"Uh huh, why?"

"I just have a hunch, with the way the Hales acted earlier."

The Sheriff took the laptop back and began clicking, his eyes widening after a few moments of scrolling. "This hunch of yours, was it being a hypothetically dead Derek Hale from the Hale family in the preserve?"

Stiles smiled at his father, gleefully celebrating his correct hunch.

"It's not so hypothetical." The Sheriff said as he turned to screen back to Stiles. "Derek Hale, he died at the age of two, no one knows how. His death was marked as unexplained but not suspicious by the last Sheriff, doctors thought it was a variance on Sudden Infant Death Syndrome..." The Sheriff tailed off, the last Sheriff was definitely in the know: it was a clause in the job description. How on earth did a werewolf toddler just suddenly die? And for it to be marked not suspicious?

The Sheriff was definitely going to take a deeper look into this, it made no sense.

"They have the same eyes." Stiles said so quietly that the Sheriff almost didn't catch it.

"What?"

"This boy and my Derek, they have the same eyes I'm sure of it." He looked back to the picture, before turning to the Sheriff with a determined expression. "Dad; Derek Hale is not dead."

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 **I can be found on Tumblr at .com**


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